Nightmares and Episodes
by awksplosion
Summary: Set two years after the end of the war (Mockingjay). Katniss nightmares have ceased as the comfort of Peeta's loving arms protects her from them, but the tracker jacker venom remaining in Peeta's veins causes him to experience violent dreams and hallucinations that the couple call 'episodes'.
1. Chapter 1

I awaken with a start. Gazing round the bedroom, I blink as my eyes adjust to the darkness. I check the clock. 1:28am; my limbs ache with fatigue and I have to fight to keep my eyes open. So why am I awake? I turn my head to the left and see the reason. Peeta. His muscles are tense and seized up, and a sheen of sweat glistens on his skin. Shudders rack Peeta's body as his breath comes out in rapid gasps. He must be having a nightmare. Turning my full body to face him, I sigh at Peeta's pain-ridden face. His eyes dart around in a frenzy beneath his lids and his cracked lips are slightly parted.

"Oh, Peeta." I whisper. He twitches slightly at the sound of my voice and I just as I think he is waking up, he falls deeper into the pit of horror that he is twisted in. A strangled cry escapes his lips. And thats when he starts to scream.

At first, he yells my name over and over again. Then he begins to thrash around, his fists beating the mattress furiously as bellows for me to run. I move off the bed and shuffle silently into the corner of the room, leaning against the dresser. I watch, cowering against the wood as Peeta screams in agony. I can only imagine what horrifying images are flashing before his very eyes. Suddenly, he shrieks an ear-piercing 'NO!' before his eyes snap open and Peeta is awake.

"...Katniss?" Peeta wimpers, sounding like a little boy, and he props himself up steadily on his elbows. He's so disorientated by the dream that he hasn't seen me. His head moves left to right as he searches the room for me, but his eyes glide past my corner and don't acknowledge me. Peeta brings his knees up to his chin and he covers his face with his arms. Rocking himself slowly back and forth, Peeta mutters my name over and over again. I can't bear seeing him in so much despair. Moving silently over to the door as a hunter would, I switch on the light and blink for a moment in the harsh brightness.

Peeta lifts his head and his face floods with relief as he sees me. I walk over to him and kneel on the bed beside him. Peeta sits up fully and I wrap my arms around him, bringing his head in against my chest. My heartbeat comforts him.

"Not real, Peeta. Not real, not real, not real. I'm here. I'm alive. Not real," I whisper soothingly into his hair as tears stream down his face and he sobs quietly into my shirt. I caress the side of his face with my thumb, wiping away his tears as they fall. When he calms down, I lay him gently back onto the bed and pull the cover over his body up to his shoulders. I creep into the bathroom and wet a flannel with icy water, then walk back into the bedroom and wipe the sweat and heat from Peeta's face. His breathing is still hurried. I lie down beside him and his arm immediately comes up around me, encasing me in his warm and gentle hold. Slowly but surely, his breathing calms and his eyes begin to droop. He shudders as soon as he starts to fall into sleep. I know he's afraid of experiencing the nightmare again.

"Stay with me," Peeta whispers, almost pleadingly.

"Always," I tell him, and we both fall into dreamless sleep, wrapped in each other's arms.


	2. Chapter 2

_What a perfect day._ This is what I think as I gaze happily through the kitchen window, at the pristine blue sky lit up by the steaming hot sun. Below my hands, traces of flourr left by Peeta's baking lie serenely on the counter. I smile faintly, remembering how Peeta laughed as he flicked flour at me when I teased him. I wonder if maybe, just maybe, things are looking up for us. Glancing over my shoulder, I notice the plate of cheese buns that Peeta left on the table for me. I take one and bite into it, closing my eyes.

"Mmm..." I moan in delight. _My favourite. _I'm still wearing my pajamas, so I walk into the bathroom and take a shower. I love the tickling feel of droplets of hot water dribbling down my back and soaking my hair with warmth. When I'm finished, I dress in a pair of khaki pants and a black vest and twist my hair into its usual braid. I brush my teeth and wash my face. Humming a merry tune, I walk down the corridor and enter the living room. Nestling into the plump cushions of the couch, I observe a vase of beautiful flowers on the oak coffee table before me.

Suddenly, I hear a crash from upstairs. I furrow my brow as I think of Peeta, and how he told me that he was going upstairs to paint in his small art room. Another crash rings out around the house, followed by a heavy thud. Millions of scenarios run through my brain at once, making me slightly dizzy.

"Peeta?" I call out, concerned "Are you alright?" I listen for a while, but receive no answer. I call again, and I am rewarded with silence. Standing up from the couch, I stretch my arms slightly and move towards the stairs which I climb hurriedly. I call Peeta's name once again, and hear a muffled cry coming from this art room. Hesitating before I do so, worried of what I might find, I turn the doorknob and step inside. On the floor is a large spatter of crimson blood. No, wait, it isn't blood. It's paint. I can just make out the glossy sheen that doesn't occur in blood. My hand goes to my mouth and I shut my eyes. Oh, Peeta. The paint has triggered an episode.

It takes me a moment to find him. Knelt on the floor behind a pile of blank canvasses, his forehead resting on the wooden floorboards. I can visibly see him fighting off the hallucinations, shuddering violently and crying out every once in a while. Beads of sweat roll down his cheeks as he hyperventilates. He pulls at his hair and groans in agony as another wave of images takes over his brain. I sigh deeply. Peeta gives up on fighting and collapses on his side, curling up into a ball and burying his face in his knees. Slowly, as though not to startle him, I move towards the quivering heap that is my husband. I have to step carefully inbetween snapped paintbrushes, broken pallettes and ripped canvases. When I reach Peeta, I slowly lower myself to a sitting position inches from his face. He gasps when he sees me, and desperately tries to pull himself away from my calm figure.

"No, no Katniss...please go...I don't want to hurt you," he pleads, and I see the pain flickering in his eyes. Then, he lets out a harrowing moan as another set of hallucinations set in and he recoils, slamming his back against the wall. I slowly begin to crawl closer to him, attempting to look gentle and kind (which is of course, hard for me) but it just causes him to start panicking more, terrified of harming me. I don't know what to do. What can I do? I think for a while, perilously trying to think of a solution. Normally, I can just cup Peeta's gorgeous face in my hands and convince him to come back to me. But, this episode is particularly bad and Peeta doesn't want me anywhere near him. _Haymitch_, I think, _Haymitch will help._

Flying out of the door, not caring about shoes or a jacket but only thinking of Peeta, I sprint across the street and knock hurriedly on Haymitch's door.

"Haymitch!" I yell, knocking so hard my knuckles hurt. "Haymitch, help!" The door opens and there stands a very tired looking Haymitch, who reeks of alcohol.

"Something wrong, sweetheart?" he says lazily, sneering slightly at my dishevelled looks.

"Its Peeta-" that is all I can choke out between breaths before Haymitch takes off running across the street towards our house. I can't help feeling slightly hurt at how Haymitch is so eager to take care of Peeta's problems, but not mine. Then again, he always did favor him over me. I follow Haymitch towards the house and practically fly up the stairs to find Haymitch bent on one knee next to Peeta, who is now sitting up but shrinking against the wall. I think it best to stand in the doorway and watch, helpless, as Haymitch mutters to the grown man who now looks like a scared boy, drawing back from an invisible monster that only he can see. Peeta's pupils are so large I can barely see his stunning, glittering blue irises. His hands are covered in that deadly paint that petrifies him so much, and he clasps them together as his hole body is taken over by uncontrollable shuddering.

Haymitch turns his head towards me with a nod, signalling that I can go to Peeta. Haymitch stands up and leaves the room, stopping on his way out to give me a somewhat reassuring pat on the shoulder. Afraid of alarming him, I creep back to Peeta and sit down next to me. This is one of the rare times when his arm doesn't instinctively wrap around my shoulders. I breathe a heavy sigh, looking at Peeta's face which is full of hurt and confusion. I feel so helpless, and it kills me to see him in so much distress and pain. Why can't I help? What can I do to help? God, what sort of sick person would inflict this sort of misery on another human being? _The Capitol, stupid, _I tell myself.

"Stop shaking, Peeta. Stop..." I move my hand and stroke his cheek, wiping away the tears that just begin to fall. I lean in towards him, pressing my forehead against his temple and lower my hand to take his in mine. It's familiar warmth and strength traps my hand in a cage of safety and love. Soon enough, the shaking ceases and his breathing turns to normal. But the hurt is still registered clearly on his face. _Why Peeta? _I ask myself, _why did they take Peeta and not me? Why does the most rational and kind human to walk on this earth have to suffer this way? Why can't I be sitting here, enduring this kind of dismay?_


End file.
